Early Years
by staceycj
Summary: Stories of the years after Mary's death and before Sam's tour of duty at Stanford.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: This will be another story that consists of one shots. These one shots will take place in the years before Sam heads off to college. I hope you enjoy it. Please let me know if I should continue with this story or if I should just have it as a one shot.

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It had been one year since the little boy's mother had died. One year since he had lived in the beautiful two story house in Lawrence, Kansas. 365 days since the brave child had run out of the burning house carrying his brother in his arms, away from the fire, away from the destruction, away from the demon, away from the mother who was burning on the ceiling, away from a life of comfort, love, warmth and normality.

Dean Winchester was now staying with a guy who lived in a church. He didn't understand exactly why they were staying with this man, but their father said it was important. Said that he needed to learn things and that this man who lived in the church could teach him those things.

Dean hadn't spoken since the night of the fire, so like always, he said nothing about the discomfort he felt at being in a stranger's home. Dean still remembered his mother telling him that he should never talk to strangers, and it seemed like all they were with were strangers now. Strangers who smiled and gave him cookies, asked his name, asked what toys he liked to play with, and then when he wouldn't answer any of their questions they would ask him about his baby brother that he never left. When that failed to produce a response out of the weary child they would look to John and ask him if the child was okay.

"Dean just hasn't spoken since his mother died. He used to be a chatter box. He just doesn't speak now." John said softly to Pastor Jim Murphy.

"It isn't unexpected. He saw something terrible. Demons are hard to get over when you are an adult, much less a child of four."

"I don't know what to do for him."

"Let God and Father Time take care of it. He'll be talking again before you know it."

"I hope you're right." Jim Murphy looked Dean and smiled.

"I am right. He will be fine. His soul is strong." John gave the man a wary look. "You believe that a demon took your wife, but you can't believe that your son has a strong soul?"

"I don't know…" John hedged. Honestly, ever since he found out that a demon took Mary from him, he wasn't too sure that God even existed. How could he exist, when he allowed evil to snuff his wife out of existence, leaving him broken with two children that desperately needed their mother? John ran a hand through his hair. "You said that you had some texts for me to read?" Jim nodded.

Dean found himself in a room that wasn't his, on a bed that had been other's before him, and where he wasn't surrounded by things familiar to him and listened to his baby brother breathe in the playpen next to his bed. The breathing was familiar, comforting, and eased his anxiety a little. He heard little Sammy coo in his sleep and Dean sat up and looked at his little brother. He decided that he looked lonely. He got out of his "big boy bed" and crawled in the playpen with Sammy. He felt safer when his brother was close. He felt like he was surrounded by the familiar. He pulled the blanket over the two of them and pulled his one year old brother closer to his chest and listened as Sammy readjusted and sucked at his thumb.

"I'm here Sammy." He said softly. Adults didn't think he spoke; he spoke, it was just the only person he allowed to hear it was Sammy.


	2. Sippy Cup

Jim Murphy watched the Winchester boys for several days, since their father was on his first hunt with a seasoned hunter. Jim noticed that Dean acted like Sam's mother, he was constantly hovering around the little boy who was just learning how to walk. Constantly behind him making sure that he didn't fall, and if the little one did manage to fall, Dean was right by his side rocking the child and making soothing noises. It never took much for Sam to get back on his feet and risk walking again as long as he knew Dean was around. Sam was such an open and loveable child. Everyone in the church had oohhed and ahhhed over the youngest child. Told Jim how adorable he was, some had thought that the two boys were orphaned, and they would ask if they could take Sam home with them. No one ever asked if Dean needed a home, no one ever volunteered to let him play with their children.

The older boy was still a mystery to everyone. His refusal to speak often put off women who had the grandmotherly personality, rankled the young women who were used to their children speaking when spoken too, and frightened anyone, with a simple look and a grab for their hands, who came near his little brother or threatened to take the younger boy from his sights. Jim had caught Dean taking Sam with him to the bathroom once. When confronted, Dean had simply closed the door locking Jim out and Sam inside. Jim prayed a lot for the young boy, who had lost everything, and protected his brother fiercely.

He often wondered what exactly Dean had been like before he had lost his mother and had become his brother's guardian angel. Did he like sports? What had been his favorite toy? Was he outgoing? There were so many questions and John was loath to provide answers. He had a hard time speaking about the time before the fire. Jim supposed that was where Dean had learned his current behavior from.

Tired, Jim made a last turn through the small parsonage. He turned off lights, closed windows and secured the doors, both from human predators and supernatural ones. He was just about to head into his room when he noted a light on in the kitchen and heard a chair scrape across the kitchen floor. Then he heard a little grunt as if someone was trying to climb on top of something. Suddenly afraid that Sam, who had made crawling a science and toddling an art form, and who enjoyed pushing things around and climbing on whatever he could, had escaped his watchful brother's sights. He hurried down the corridor and in the doorway he saw Dean standing on a chair and filling his brother's sippy cup with water. The faucet was on full blast and Jim watched as Dean checked the temperature of the water with his little fingers, sending a spray of water arching through the air onto the little boy's face and pajamas and finally the floor. Dean used his other hand to maneuver the big stiff old handle that controlled the water temperature and forced it to make the water cooler. Never mind that he was trying to do this without the guidance of his eyes. They were firmly shut against the water that was spraying all over his face.

"Dean." he said quietly trying not to startle the boy. Dean heard his name and immediately sat down on the chair in which he had been standing. In his haste he dropped the cup in the sink and left he water on. The little boy's body was ram rod straight and he didn't move, not even one hair on his dirty blonde head moved. Jim wondered for a second if he was breathing.

Turning off the water, and crouching beside his charge he touched Dean's arm, Dean snatched it back as if Jim had touched it with a hot poker. "Dean." Dean looked at Jim, and Jim swallowed at the look of fear and determination inside them. Dean was scared out of his mind, this poor sad little five year old was terrified to walk around an unfamiliar house, climb up on a chair and get water for his baby brother, but he was determined enough to do it, he was determined to take care of his little brother, no matter what it cost him.

"Dean, you could have just asked me to get water for Sam." Water dripped from a strand of hair hanging in Dean's face. The child remained stony and silent. Green eyes blazing. His breathing picked up it's pace but otherwise the boy didn't move. Jim turned back to the sink, encouraged the faucet to release the water a little more slowly than it had, he checked the temperature, and filled the sippy cup, capped it and handed it to the child, who snatched out of his hands and scrambled out of the chair as fast as he could, Jim heard the door to the bedroom click shut softly. Jim let his shoulders slump.

"John, your boy needs you, more than any hunt." He said with a sigh and rested his back against the sink and prayed that God would help Dean Winchester.

"Sammy, here." Dean whispered. "It's not the juice you like, but it was all I could reach." He handed the child the cup and snuggled up against his brother and he listened to the sounds of his brother drinking the water and just as Sam drifted to sleep, Dean took the cup and finished off the water that Sam had left, threw the empty cup into a corner of the playpen, pulled Sam as close as he could and finally allowed himself to relax and fall into a sound sleep.


	3. Play

He missed his mom. Dean had been thinking that over and over. He just missed his mommy and he was scared that the fire would come back and start taking his dad and his brother. He didn't want the fire to have anyone else. Not even the weird man, Pastor Jim. Pastor Jim was okay. He was nice and didn't try too hard to make him talk like every one else. He let him take care of Sammy, and didn't tell him to get out of Sammy's playpen when he found him sleeping inside.

Dean's exuberant little brother took advantage of his daydreaming and tackled him. His little diaper crinkling as he kicked his chubby legs and hugged his brother and giggled. Jim watched from the couch as Sam smiled and laughed and buried his head into his brother's stomach and tried to push like a bull dozer. Dean laughed. Dean laughed hard, and writhed on the floor playing with his little brother like a normal five year old. Jim kept the astonishment off of his face as best as he could because he didn't want to spook the older boy and cause him to stifle the laughter, laughter might just help heal his little soul.

Dean pushed Sam off of him and had him on his back, and Dean, sitting on his knees, put his mouth on his baby brother's stomach and blew making a farting noise on the child's stomach. Sam put his little chubby hands into Dean's hair and laughed hard, Dean did it again, and Sam laughed again so hard that he stopped breathing for a few seconds. Encouraged by his brother's laughter Dean kept on giving him raspberries and Sam kicked his legs and smacked Dean in the head all the while laughing so hard that he would turn red and his laughter would become silent.

"Dean." Pastor Jim said in a warning voice, Dean stopped and his face went from happy grins to scared in less than a second. "Just give Sammy a little more time. He needs to catch his breath." Dean nodded a little and looked back at Sammy who was all wide eyes and grins. He smacked his stomach wanting Dean to do it again, and Dean smiled and obliged his little brother.

After they played for a while Dean turned on the television, which now pretty much resided on the channel that held cartoons most frequently, and lay on the floor on his stomach and watched whatever cartoon that was flickering across the screen. Jim left the boys to the television and worked on making lunch. When he was finished, he went into the family room to collect the kids, and found Dean still awake watching television and Sammy asleep next to his brother. Jim, reluctantly, went and picked up little Sammy. Dean looked worried.

"Don't worry Dean. I'm just putting him down for a nap. I won't take him away from you." Dean got up and followed Jim to the bedroom and put Sam down for a nap. He covered up the child and Dean watched his green eyes wide with concern.

"He'll be fine Dean." Sam shifted in his sleep and Dean's eyebrows knitted together. "I'll leave the door open. You need to eat lunch. Once you've eaten, you can come back in here if you want." Jim said. Dean nodded briefly, and followed Jim to the kitchen, got into his chair and started to shove the sandwich into his little mouth.

"Whoah, whoah Dean. Don't eat so fast, you'll get sick." Dean looked up and then put the sandwich back on the plate. "Chew Dean, make sure you chew. I don't want you to choke. You don't want to get hurt. Because if you got hurt, who would protect Sammy?" Dean nodded and sat, kicking his legs and chewed the sandwich that was in his mouth before he took a drink of milk. Jim ate some of his lunch and pondered whether or not he should try to talk to Dean about talking. The child needed to talk if he was to enroll in school in the fall. He was already a year behind.

"Dean?" He looked over at Pastor Jim and his eyes were curious. "You know, Sammy should know how to say some words by now." Dean looked suspicious. He could sense that the Pastor was trying to get him to talk. "You do a very good job with him Dean. You are a very good big brother. You know, maybe if you started to talk then maybe he would realize it is okay to talk too." Dean seemed to consider this information as he ate. The moment the last piece of sandwich was stuffed into his mouth he ran into his brother's room.

"Get the kid to talk again, and then teach him table manners." Jim sighed as he picked up Dean's plate and glass and put them in the sink.

He heard Dean shut the door, and he figured that Dean was already inside his brother's playpen. He was. Dean had climbed in as fast as he could and lay beside his baby brother.

"That true what the man says?" Dean asked his sleeping brother. "You should be talking." He said. "I'll start talking if you do." He said quietly. He watched Sam for a little while and decided that his mother would want Sammy to talk, would want Sammy to grow up like normal. She would want Dean to be brave for Sammy, to help him. "I'll be brave and talk for you Sammy. I love you."


	4. First Days

First days were always difficult and Dean Winchester's first day of first grade was absolutely no exception. Pastor Jim had taken him over the summer for testing, and they found that he knew all of his letters, how to count to one hundred, his colors, shapes, and how to spell his name.

The teacher who tested Dean was shocked that he could not only spell his name out loud, but could write it down, and that his letters were neat and precise. What she didn't know was that the last thing Mary Winchester had taught her son was his name. Dean was so worried that he would forget his mom, because since they had moved he had a hard time remembering his house, and he had a hard time remembering his toys or the backyard, and he didn't want to forget his mom. The only way he knew how to remember his mom was to practice spelling his name. He practiced all of the time. While he sat in the car he would lick his finger and then trace the outlines of the letters with his little finger on the seat, when he got to Pastor Jim's he practiced his letters in the dirt while he was outside playing. He recited the letters when he lay in bed waiting for everyone to leave him along long enough to get into bed with his baby brother.

He would remember his name; he would remember what his mommy said. His mommy said that his name told everyone around him what kind of man he was. She told him that it told everyone that he belonged to her and to daddy and then when little Sammy was born, she told him that it told people who Sammy belonged to. It was the last connection he had with his mother and he was determined not to forget it.

His determination to remember how to spell and write his name earned him a spot in the first grade, instead of kindergarten, with children his own age. The first day was harder than Dean or the two male adults in his life expected.

John woke Dean up and pulled him away from his little brother's side and told him he needed to get himself dressed. Dean not only got himself ready but he got Sam up and dressed as well. Dean toted the tired two-year old with him into the kitchen. Sam rubbed his eye and yawned.

"Dean, why did you get Sam up?" John asked calmly.

"He's going to school with me sir." Dean said softly. Dean spoke now, but he most certainly didn't speak loudly enough for many to hear him.

"Dean, he's too little to go to school." John reasoned. Dean's eyes widened a touch and he looked down at Sam and then to his father. He chewed his lip nervously.

"I don't want to go if Sammy can't go." John's fears were realized with his son's statement. Dean hadn't left his brother's side in the year since Mary had died. He slept with Sam, he played with Sam, he talked to Sam, who was now starting to actually speak as well, and he watched the kid all of the time. He never left Sam's sight.

"Dean, when Sammy is a big boy, like you, he'll go to school too. Don't you want Sammy to go to school?" Dean thought about it for a minute and then nodded. "I thought so. Come on, eat your breakfast and then we need to get you to school." Dean nodded, but his fear didn't go away.

Dropping Dean off was harder on Sammy than on anyone else. The moment Dean got out of Sam's sight, the younger boy squirmed in John's arms and when John wouldn't let him go, he reached out an arm and opened and closed his fist and said, "Dee, Dee" then looked at his father and repeated himself.

"No, Sammy. Dean has to go by himself." Sam's little face scrunched up and a tears fell from his big eyes.

"Dee, Dee!" he demanded again. Instead of letting him go like he wanted, John turned away from the son who was walking towards his first day of school and walked Sam and himself back to the car. Sam started wailing as soon as his father turned, and he didn't stop until they went and picked Dean up. As soon as Sammy saw his brother in the crowd he ran, screaming "Dee! Dee!" Dean hurried to his little brother and hugged him.

"Dee, pway."

"We'll play when we get home." Dean said softly. He let his little brother go and took his hand and they walked back to their father.

"How was school son?" John asked. Dean shrugged.

"Did you like your teacher?" Dean shrugged again. "Did you make any new friends?" Dean shrugged his shoulders once again. "Son, answer me." He didn't. He simply got into the car and waited to be driven back home.

That night he got into his brother's crib, laid down next to him, got comfortable, and whispered. "Everyone else's mommy dropped them off, and gave them kisses. I miss my momma." He said and started to cry, his only comfort being his little brother, who was sleeping soundly next to him.


	5. God

"Stay right here Dean, I'll be back with Sam

"Stay right here Dean, I'll be back with Sam." Pastor Jim says. Sam always goes to Sunday school with the other kids and it is the only time in the week that Dean voluntarily allows Sam out of his sight. Dean knows that it is safe here with Pastor Jim and that Sam won't get hurt even if he isn't glued to his hip every single second.

As Dean waited for his brother to return he wondered if he would want to play with the toy car that he got for his birthday last week. He was seven now and a big boy, and he really didn't care, birthdays meant nothing without your mom.

He watched his feet as they swung against the pew. Every Sunday, Pastor Jim made him get all dressed up to go to church. He sat in the same pew, by himself because Sam went with the little kids to Sunday school, and Dean listened to Pastor Jim give his talk to the people. Pastor Jim liked to talk about how God was always here for us, helping us fight the evil that surrounds us. Dean didn't believe that too much. Because if God fought for all of the good people in the world than his mommy wouldn't have been killed by something evil. He looked down at his shirt and picked at a thread on his church shirt and sighed.

"You lost little one?" Dean jumped a little. He looked up and saw a very tall pretty woman.

"No, ma'am." He said. "I'm waiting for Pastor Jim."

"Oh, you must be one of the little ones that he keeps an eye on."

"Yes, ma'am." She laughed.

"Sweetie, you can call me Ellen." He eyed her warily. "What is your name?"

"Dean."

"That's a very nice name. There is an actor who had that name. He was very cute just like you." Dean turned away a little embarrassed. "I hear you have a little brother."

"Sammy. He's four. He likes Sunday school."

"Don't you?"

"No." he said and shook his head for emphasis.

"Why not? You get to play with other kids your age and learn about all of the great things that God does." Dean shrugged his shoulders and started to kick his little feet. "There has to be a reason."

"God, doesn't like me." he said.

"What do you mean Dean?"

"He took my mommy away from me so he must be mad at me. Maybe I did something bad."

"But your brother, he goes to Sunday school?" she asked trying to understand this little boy's reasoning.

"Sammy wasn't old enough to be bad. He was too little. It wasn't his fault. I did something bad." The woman touched his hand and he turned to her.

"Dean, you didn't do anything wrong. Sometimes there is evil in this world that gets to good people before God can do anything. Sometimes someone good has to be killed by evil to start someone's destiny."

"What's destiny?"

"Destiny is something that you are supposed to do."

"Like go to school?"

"Yeah, sort of." She smiled. "Maybe your mom had to die in order for you and your daddy to find your destinies."

"So it's still my fault?"

"No, baby, what happened to your mommy had nothing to do with you. But your daddy is out there right now killing those evil things so they don't hurt anyone else like your mommy. So other little boys won't have to take care of their little brothers because their mommy is dead. They won't have to be sad like you." Dean seemed to think about that. He looked back up at her with sad green eyes and she melted a little under his gaze. This boy would eventually become a hunter of legend, he would be one of the ones that would sacrifice everything, including his life, to keep anyone else from feeling what he was feeling right now. For an instant her heart broke, this little boy would never have a wife, children, or anyone to go home to at night. He would raise that little boy and he would raise him to be someone other than what Dean would become. Dean was an old soul trapped inside a very little package. Pastor Jim rounded the corner with a very talkative little boy by his side.

"Dean!" he declared and broke from Jim's hand and went to his big brother. "Dean! Can we go play with your car now?" he asked.

"Yeah Sammy we can." Dean took Sam's hand and headed into the vestibule in the front of the church.

"Pastor Jim you coming with us?" the chunky four year old asked brightly.

"I'll be there in a few minutes, you can sit outside on the step. Dean, you know how far you are allowed to go."

"Yes, sir." The two adults heard the door open and shut.

"Did you get through to him?" he asked.

"I don't think so. I tried."

"That's all that we can hope for. Thanks Ellen." Jim said with a sigh.


	6. Reading

Moving around a lot in his second and third grade years had done more harm than good for Dean's education. He was in the fourth grade and he still couldn't read very well. He knew the small words but anything much bigger than "hat" puzzled him. He still read to Sammy every night, but it was more an interpretation of the pictures on the page rather than actual reading. Sam never cared. He just snuggled against Dean and fell asleep while his brother "read" to him. Dean loved that Sam would cuddle against him and listen, it made him feel special, needed, when most of the time he felt so lost and scared.

School was so hard for Dean. He was often distracted, looking out of the window when he should be paying attention to the teacher, other students made fun of him because his clothes were ratty and worn and because he was always the new kid and they thought he was strange. The first couple of schools that he had switched to he had attempted to make friends, he went up to them and asked if he could play, but they usually said no. Those who did say yes usually pelted him with balls, because suddenly he was in a dodge ball game and he was the one who was supposed to dodge the balls. What hurt more was going home to another ratty motel room and his father not noticing that he was upset. Once when he had come home crying his father had took him by the shoulders and said, "Dean you can't cry at every little thing. You need to be strong. You don't want Sammy seeing you crying like a little kid. Be strong." From that moment on Dean struggled to keep his emotions in check, which was very hard for a nine year old to do.

He said pretty much nothing when he changed schools again before starting his fourth grade year. He knew that nothing was going to be different. He was going to be put in the "special" classes and that he was going to spend recess inside, or sitting at the edge of the playground watching the other kids, kids who had friends, kids who had moms and dads, and grandparents to go home to, smile and laugh with other children like themselves.

Sam started Kindergarten, Dean packed his little book bag that Pastor Jim had sent to him. Sam was so excited to fill it with the crayons, pencils, pens, markers, safety scissors, glue and pencil box, that their father had managed to scrape the money together for. Dean on the other hand, had been very careful to keep his pens and pencils from the year before. Still had the colored pencils and the crayons that he had used the last year. This year it was more important that Sam had the new things. Dean didn't want Sam to be left out and teased the way he was. Dean had called Pastor Jim and asked him if he would please send some of the nicer clothes from the church rummage sale for his little brother, told Jim that when they swung by again he would scrub the church floor, and polish the pews and pulpit as repayment. Jim had been so touched by Dean's request that he went out and bought little Sammy clothes and bought an outfit for Dean, and sent him some jeans from the rummage sale. Dean would accept new clothes for Sammy but not for himself.

Their father had been sleeping off the alcohol that he had consumed the night before, and Dean got Sam ready for his first day of school. He helped Sam into the white shirt and jean shorts, helped him tie his little shoes. Sam slid his backpack onto his shoulders and smiled happily at his brother.

"I'm ready Dean. Can we go now?"

"The yellow bus has to pick us up."

"Like it did for you last year?"

"Yeah." Dean worried at his lip for a moment. "Sammy."

"Yeah Dean?"

"You can't tell people that Dad is gone a lot."

"Okay." Sam said with confusion.

"And be a nice boy, make friends. Don't let kids pick on you. If anyone hurts you because they are being mean you come tell me." Sam nodded.

Had Dean knew what would happen a couple of months later, he wouldn't have let anyone put Sammy into school. Dean was waiting for him to get onto the bus one afternoon and his little brother bounded on and sat down next to him.

"Guess what Dean?"

"What?" Dean asked sourly. It had been a particularly bad day for him.

"I knows how to read."

"Know, not knows." Dean corrected. Sam dug in his book bag and pulled out a copy of See Spot Run and proceeded to read the story to Dean.

"When did you learn to do that?" he asked.

"I've been practicing, with the special people. The people that come and take some of us for a while during the week. I've been practicing for you. I wanted to surprise you. I can read the story to you tonight." He said with special pride. Dean forced a smile and tucked his heart away. His brother could read. Dean was still struggling to read bigger words than "hat" and his brother could read an entire book. He praised his little brother. Told him how proud he was of him, how special he really was, because they only took the really smart kids into that little trailer next to the playground. Those kids usually made fun of Dean.

That night Sammy read A Cat and the Hat to Dean. Sam didn't need any help with the words. He knew them all, and the ones he wasn't familiar with he sounded out better than Dean ever had. When the book ended, Dean smiled, held back his humiliation and tears. "Good job Sammy!" he said and hugged his little brother to him. "Time for bed now." Dean said needing to be away from Sam just for a few minutes. Just needed to be able to burry his face in his pillow and cry.

Sam's face scrunched up. "No. I want a story." Sam said.

"You read your story." He said.

"No. That was for you. That was a present. Like a birthday present." Sam said with a grin that ate up his whole little face. "Read to me please." Dean nodded and picked up another book. Sam never made any sound regarding that the words on the page weren't the ones he was reading. Sam snuggled into Dean and fell asleep.

The next day, instead of going to recess he hung back. The teacher here was nice. She didn't seem mean like the last teacher who told him he was stupid and that he wasn't going to go anywhere in life because he was so stupid.

"Dean, sweetie?" Mrs. Ridgewood asked. She went to his desk and knelt down beside him. "Dean?"

"I don't read so good." He paused and she let him. He finally pulled the book that he had "read" to Sam the night before out of his desk and held it out to her. "Would you please help make me better? I got to read to my little brother at night, and he can read better than I can. I want to read to him. I don't want him to know that I can't read so good."


	7. Needs

"Dean, honey," Mrs. Ridgewood put a hand on Dean's shoulder and he jerked awake. He looked up at the teacher that had treated him so kindly and found that he had fallen asleep during their health lesson. His face grew red.

"I'm so sorry Mrs. Ridgewood." He said and wiped his mouth.

"No, sweetie, don't apologize."

"I'll clean the black board for you." She shook her head and encouraged him to sit back down.

"Is something wrong?"

"No ma'am. I just didn't sleep real good last night."

"Well." She corrected.

"I didn't sleep well last night." He amended.

"Why not? Have nightmares?" He shrugged and avoided her gaze. She rubbed his back in soothing circles. "It's nothing to be ashamed of. We all have bad nights. "What did your daddy say?" Dean shrugged. "Sweetie, we talked about this. You have to talk to me. I'm not going to make fun of you." He looked up, he always looked so sad and she always wanted to hug him tight and take away that sadness. She had bus duty a couple of weeks ago and she watched Dean stand right by the office and wait, a little brown haired boy came barreling out of his classroom and threw himself into Dean's arms, and Dean hugged him tightly. She wondered in that moment who hugged Dean, because Dean always seemed to need a hug, and the one time she had met his father, he seemed too distracted to give many hugs to his sons.

"I dreamed about my mom." He finally admitted. "Once I had the dream, I work up and I couldn't get back to sleep."

"I bet you miss her." She said. Dean nodded.

"I don't remember what she looks like anymore. I have to look at a picture to remember. I can't hear her voice any more. Sammy is starting to ask about her. I don't know what to say. I don't' remember very much. I don't want to get it wrong." Melissa Ridgewood blinked back the tears that the little boy's confession had evoked.

"Well, your daddy can tell him." Dean shook his head.

"No. Talking about Mom hurts Daddy more than it hurts me. So, I don't want Sammy to ask him. I can't ask him. I don't want him anymore sad than he already is."

"What do you remember about your mom?"

Dean looked down at his health book and thought about it. "I remember she liked to laugh. She smiled a lot. Her hair was soft. It was long. I remember that. It was real long. Longer than yours." He said. "When I hugged her I would get her hair in my nose and tangled in my hands. But I don't remember much more than that."

"How old was Sammy when you lost her?"

"He was 6 months old."

"He doesn't even have that. So just telling him about her hair is something that you can give him. You can give him that little part of your mom. And maybe, if you tell him about her you'll remember more, and then you can remember her better."

"You think so?" he asked hopeful.

"I think so. My mom died when I was little too. My little sister doesn't remember a lot about her, so I tell her the things that I remember, and sometimes it makes me feel like she's with me. Sometimes I remember little things about her that I had forgotten." Dean nodded, and she took a chance and pulled him into a hug. He stiffened for a second and then hugged her back. His little body sagged against hers. She had been right. Dean needed a hug.

"Come on sweetie, you need to get to lunch."

"No. I'm not hungry." He said and looked back down at his health text book and started to read. Melissa hung her head. This was the not the first time this little boy had said that he wasn't hungry, and had stayed behind to read or do extra work for her or other teachers. She was starting to not believe that he wasn't hungry, and by looking at his threadbare coat she was pretty certain that Dean Winchester wasn't hungry, because he didn't have the means to eat. Sighing, she left him to the book, deciding that a hug was the smallest part of this kid's needs.


	8. Mother's Day

Mother's Day came every year like a bad cold that you really didn't want to have to suffer through. Dean dreaded it. The teacher always made him make some stupid picture, or card, or paint a flower pot for his mother. He always did it, because he didn't want to have to remind his teachers that he didn't have a mother. Didn't want the kid next to him to ask what happened to his mom. He didn't want to explain, and he didn't want the kids to look at him any more strangely than they already did.

Today he sat in his seat coloring on a sheet of construction paper that was meant to be a card for his "mother". Mrs. Ridgewood watched and she even told him that he didn't have to participate in the activity. Dean shrugged his shoulders and continued to draw on the card. Mrs. Ridgewood sighed and moved to the front of the room to help the kids who were chatting away and no doubt had moms and dads and siblings and families that weren't destroyed or touched by the supernatural.

He heard a sniff come from behind him and a crayon dropping to the floor. He turned around and Flora, the girl who had difficulties using her arms and legs, was starring down at the crayon beside her desk and fat alligator tears streaming down her face. Dean got up, picked up the crayon and held it out to her. She slowly she reached out her malformed hand and took it from him. She looked up and tried to smile.

"Thank you." She said through slightly slowed speech. He nodded. He hesitated by her desk for a second. I

f she were Sammy, he would sit down and comfort her and help her. He wondered if that was what he was supposed to do, or if he was supposed to leave her alone to struggle like everyone else. He bit his lip for a second in contemplation and then took his chair and sat down next to her.

"Can I help?" he asked. She looked over at him and grinned, her jumble of teeth showing. She nodded. "What color?" he asked and spread out the crayons in front of her. For the rest of the afternoon, Dean colored the pictures that she wanted, wrote what she wanted him to write on the inside and the outside of the card, and he helped her peal the stickers from their protective backs and held the card close to her so she could stick them on herself and held the paper down as she signed her name in her scratchy handwriting.

When they finished she looked at him, smiled, and then said, "What about your card?" Dean shook his head and put her card into the envelope that they had made together.

"Doesn't matter."

"What about your mom?"

"My mom is dead." Flora stopped. Her bright blue eyes began to swim in tears. One fell.

"I'm sorry." Dean shrugged.

"No big deal." He said and put a piece of tape on the back of the envelope. When he looked back up at Flora he saw that to her it was a big deal. She reached out her crippled hand and rested it on his shoulder.

"Thank you for helping me." Dean gave a tight lipped smile.

"Your welcome."

Mother's Day was Sunday, and Dean awoke to his little brother jumping on his bed. "Dean!" his five year old lungs screamed. Slowly opening his eyes he found Sammy's face mere centimeters from his.

"What?" he asked.

"Get up!"

"Why? We don't have school today."

"No! It's Brother's Day!" he announced loudly.

"What in the world are you talking about?" Dean asked and sat up in the bed. Sam scurried off, and Dean heard clanking in the small kitchen of the apartment they were staying in. He came back carefully holding a cookie sheet that had been left by the previous owners that held a bowl of Lucky Charms and a glass of orange juice. Next to the bowl was a little marigold inside of a painted pot. He put it on his brother's lap.

"What is all of this?"

"This is what you do for brothers on Brother's Day."

"Sammy there is no such day."

"Yes there is." Dean closed his eyes frustrated and

"Today is Mother's day. Not Brother's Day. There is no such thing."

"My teacher was making us paint flower pots for our mom's. I told her I didn't have a mom. She asked me if I wanted to make something for my dad, I told her that it wasn't fair for dad to get two gifts, so she asked me who I would like to make it for. I told her you." Dean's eyes stung. "I told her that you take care of me. Read to me every night. That you are the best big brother in the world. So, she told me that I could make today Brother's Day. And Mrs. Taylor is always right. She's the smartest lady in the whole wide world." Dean tried to smile, but the tears in his eyes stopped him from smiling. Sam bounced again, spilling some of the Lucky Charms onto the cookie sheet, neither boy noticed or cared. Sam pushed the flower pot closer to his brother. "You like it?" he asked a little nervously.

Dean picked up the flower. The pot was painted white, and there was a rainbow on one side, a sun on the other, and two stick people in the center. One a little taller than the other, holding hands next to what Dean assumed was the Impala.

"See, that's me and you and the car. I knowed you like the car."

"Knew, Sammy, the word is knew."

"That's what I said." He said as his brows knit together.

"I love it Sammy. It is beautiful. It's the best Brother's Day gift I've ever gotten." Sam smiled.

"Can I have the Lucky Charms if you aren't going to eat them?" Dean burst out laughing.

"You can have em Sammy. You can have em." He put his Brother's Day gift next to his bed, and that night, he starred at it and realized that perhaps Mother's Day wasn't all bad he may not have a mother, but he had a brother that he loved more than life itself and who apparently loved him just as much. God took things away but sometimes he gave you something back more precious than you could have hoped for. He kissed his brother's hair and held him tight as the little boy slept snuggled against his big brother.


	9. Innocence

"Dean where is your brother

"Dean where is your brother?" John asked.

"He's outside playing with the other kid in the complex. They are throwing the basketball. I can see them from the window. They are fine." Ten year old Dean said alternating looking out the window and reading his math homework.

"Call him inside." Dean turned his attention from the window to his father. Suspicion written all over his small features.

"Don't argue with me son. Just go get your brother."

"I promised him that he could stay outside until dark. I told him that we would have macaroni and cheese."

"I didn't ask you the plan. Or what you promised your brother. I asked you to go get him. It is time to come in." Dean stood and started to go towards the door.

"Dad…are you going to tell him what you do?" John Winchester sighed and closed his eyes wishing that his normally obedient son would be just that right now.

"Dean, go get your brother."

"I was his age when we started target practice."

"Yes, you were. Dean, for the last time get your brother." Dean stood at the front door rigid and straight. He took one last glimpse out of the window and watched his six year old little brother playing with a basketball that was too big for him with a kid that was a little bigger than him. Dean thought of the fun he would like to have doing the same thing. He knew he couldn't, he knew what his role in life was, and he was about to play that part right now.

"No. Sammy is outside playing." John stood up and made his way to his eldest son who looked like a scared mother hen that wasn't about to let his charge be harmed even if that meant that he would be hurt in the process.

"What has gotten into you?"

"Let Sammy play. He doesn't need to know how to shoot."

"Yes he does. He needs to be prepared." John shook his head. "Why am I arguing about this with a ten year old?"

"Because you trust me enough to take care of Sammy, when you aren't here and that is a lot sir."

"Dean.."

"I screwed up in Fitchburg, but I won't do that ever again. Leave Sammy alone." Dean pleaded. "He's six, sir." Dean reminded pressing himself up against the door tighter.

"Dean Aaron Winchester!" he yelled. "Go get your brother. Get him right now." Dean stood as straight as he could, but even he knew that he wasn't big enough or strong enough to go against his father. Dean kept his bottom lip from quivering and he turned and opened the door quietly, exited and closed it behind him. He slowly made his way down the stairs and then outside. All he could think was that today Sammy was about to loose his innocence, all because he hadn't done his job and protected his little brother in Fitchburg.

"Sammy?" he yelled when he got outside.

"Dean! Show Tommy how to make a basket like you did me. I can't do it right. Please." Never being able to deny his brother, Dean nodded to the other child and the ball was thrown to him and he caught it and made the basket just like he had shown Sam the other week. As soon as the ball made contact with the concrete he put an arm on Sam's shoulder.

"Dad wants you upstairs."

"Okay. Bye Tommy I gots to go."

"You have to go, not gots to." Dean corrected. Sam nodded.

"Is the Macaroni done? Did you make it the way I like it with the extra milk?" Sam asked grabbing Dean's hand.

"No. I didn't make it yet."

'Then why does Dad want my upstairs? Are we going to go get burgers?"

"I don't think so Sammy."

"Then why does Dad want me?"

"I don't know."

"You don't know anything today."

"No I don't."

"Did you tell Dad about the hole I ripped in my pants while he was away? He'll be mad. Do you think he'll be mad?"

"I didn't tell him." Dean opened the door and let Sam enter first.

"Dad, are we going to get a burger instead of macaroni? I really want macaroni. Dean makes it with extra milk for me, and I gets to eat it with a spoon." Sam went to his dad and hugged him. John picked him up. "We learned about dinosaurs yesterday at school. Did you know they've all been dead for millions and trillions of years?"

"Have they buddy?" John looked over at Dean, Dean couldn't look at either one of them.

"Yeah, and some could swim and some were like big birds. Not like big bird on Sesame Street, but like snakes with wings."

"Dean, why don't you start making that macaroni." John said. Dean looked up shocked. "I think the young one here should get what he wants for dinner." Dean nodded.

"Tell me more about school Sammy." John encouraged. Dean had been right. Sam was too young to handle a gun. Dean had been ready at 6. Sam was not. Sam was just a kid. Sam was innocent and excited about life. Dean was an old soul who always looked like he just wanted a rest. He would not put that look into his youngest eyes. Not just yet.


	10. Questions

He had called Pastor Jim that morning. He didn't know what else to do. Dad had said that he would only be gone for a few days. That he would be fine, don't worry, take care of Sammy, and to remember the call signal. He remembered all of that. John called three days ago. Dean hadn't heard from him since. He went to school, pretended like everything was okay. Made sure Sammy had lunch money even if that meant he had to skip school one day and to the mall and fish around in the wishing pond, that Dean was fairly certain didn't grant anyone's wishes, and took as many quarters as he could before security chased him out. But by golly Sammy had lunch money, and Sammy would be fed. But the quarters ran out and Thanksgiving break came. Their Dad had promised that he would be home by Thanksgiving. Promised.

"Where's dad?" Sam asked as Dean fixed a can of Spaghettios.

"Dad is working."

"What does Daddy do again?" Sam asked as he played with his spoon.

"He's a salesman."

"What does he sell?"

"I don't' know stuff." Dean said as he prayed that the Spaghettios would hurry up and get warm.

"When he gets back are we gonna move again?" he asked with a furrowed brow. The kid was only six, and shouldn't care if they lived on the moon, but his little brother hated packing up his meager belongings and getting back into the back of the Impala and driving to who knew where and finding another ratty motel or apartment to live in. The kid hated switching schools.

"I don't know probably."

"Why do we move around so much?"

"Because the teachers at school ask dad to get rid of you because you ask too many questions." There that seemed to shut Sam up. He turned off the stove and turned around. Sammy had tears falling from his hazel eyes.

"Really?" he asked. "They get tired of me? They tell you that Dean?" He asked and sniffed. Instantaneous guilt blossomed in Dean's stomach. He set the bowl down in front of his brother.

"No. I'm sorry. I didn't mean it." He said and gave his brother a one armed hug.

"Then why'd you say it Dean?"

"Because I wanted you to stop asking questions."

"But I wasn't being mean?"

"No, you weren't. I just don't know the answers."

"But you know everything Dean. You're my big brother."

"I know I am Sammy. But there are things that even I don't know."

"Aren't you hungry?" Sam asked noting that Dean didn't give himself any of the canned delight.

"No. I'm not hungry. I ate something while you took a nap."

"I don't take naps no more."

"Any more." Dean said with a sigh. "While you were in the other room watching television then." Dean said with a roll of his eyes. In all actuality, Dean was starving. He hadn't eaten since lunch at school the day before. There hadn't been enough of anything in the motel room for him to eat. There had been enough cereal for two bowls, one for Sammy today, and one for Sammy tomorrow, and there was the one can of Spaghettios that he had just given Sammy, and that would have to last tomorrow as well. Pastor Jim said he couldn't get them until tomorrow evening. Two days without anything to eat wasn't a big deal. He shrugged. No big deal at all. As long as Sammy had food in his belly that was fine.

Sam helped him clean up dinner and they both decided that they would go to bed because Pastor Jim would come to collect them and they would need to be ready. Dean had just gotten comfortable in his bed when he felt eyes starring at him. He turned quickly and found Sammy starring at him.

"Can I sleep with you? I'm scared."

"Sure Sammy get in." Sam crawled into bed with his big brother and snuggled down. Dean never knew that Sammy had heard his stomach growl all night, and he never knew that Sammy really didn't have a stomach ach the following morning, that his little brother just wanted to make sure his brother had something in his belly, because as long as Dean was fed and happy that was all that mattered.


	11. It'll Be Okay

Dean sighed as he sat down in the kitchen chair. It had been a long day. School had felt longer than normal, and he had taken Sammy to the library after school so he could get books on sharks for his project, and then he had fed his little brother, helped him with his homework and finally got the kid to bed. Exhausted wasn't even a strong enough word to describe how he was feeling at the moment. He looked down at his book bag that was sitting next to his chair and he took another deep sigh. He hadn't even started his own homework and it was past eleven.

He prepared for another long night and pulled out his English folder and started rewriting the essay that his teacher had corrected for him. She told him that if he took it home and corrected it and brought it back he would get a better grade, she said that all he needed was practice and he could be a very good story teller. Because she believed in him, and only let him take his papers home to correct, he worked hard at making it better, making his handwriting as precise as his fingers would allow. She deserved his best.

He was half way through the third paragraph when he heard shuffling by the front door. He was up, lightning quick, and the shot gun was in his hand and aimed at the front door, nothing was going to get past him and harm his charge sleeping in the next room. The door opened and he cocked the gun and when the person came into view his hands relaxed on the gun, but his body went stiff. His father came stumbling through the door, blood all over him.

"Sir?" Dean said and put the shot gun back down. He ran to his father and helped him to the chair that he had just vacated. John folded into the chair heavily. Dean licked his lips once and immediately went for the first aid kit, hot water and a washcloth. Without a word Dean washed the blood from his father's face and assessed the damage with a practiced hand.

"It'll be okay." Dean said softly as he cleaned his father up and put bandages on the cuts on his father's face. "It's not that bad." He said in a calm and patient voice. John said nothing, he just starred into space. Judging from his father's lack of reaction, Dean assumed that the hunt had been a particularly nasty one, perhaps even with an innocent person being killed despite his father's best efforts.

"Sammy and I went to the library today." Dean said as he put butterfly bandages on a particularly nasty cut on his father's cheek. "The lady who worked there was reading a story to the little kids. Sammy sat and listened for a while. It was a story about bunnies, I don't remember what it was called, but Sammy wouldn't quit talking about it. He had to get some books on sharks. He is doing a report on them." Dean finished the cut on his father's face. He moved to take his father's coat off, then his father's shirts, they were covered in blood and from the looks of it, it wasn't his and that validated Dean's theory that someone innocent had died.

"My English teacher told me today that I would be a good story teller with some practice. All of that time I spent telling Sammy stories must have paid off huh?" he asked. "Once I get you cleaned up sir, I'll finish that so I get the better grade. You don't need to worry about my schooling on top of worrying about all of the people you worry about. Come on sir, let's get you to bed." Dean helped his father up and into his own room and pulled the covers over his father's legs. "It'll be all right dad. You got the evil sucker and that is all that matters. No one else will be hurt. Good night." He walked slowly out of the room and closed the door softly behind him.

"Dean?" Cam a frightened voice.

"Sammy? What are you doing up?"

"I heard Dad come home. Is he okay?"

"Dad's fine. Don't worry about him Sammy." Sam gave Dean big watery scared eyes.

"When are you going to bed?"

"When I get the kitchen cleaned up and my homework finished."

"Can you do that in the morning?"

"Why?" Sam shrugged. Since he turned 8 he had spent less and less time in his big brother's bed, Dean figured that he was too old now to seek comfort in his brother's bed.

"I'm scared." He repeated. Dean got the message. He nodded and turned off the light in the kitchen.

"Come on Sammy. Let's get some sleep." The essay would have to wait until tomorrow. Sammy was more important.


	12. I am Thankful

"Thank you for having Sam for dinner today Mrs. Anders." Dean said as he watched Sam scurry away and into the house with his friend. Mrs. Anders regarded Dean quizzically.

"You sure that this is okay?"

"Yes ma'am. We had Thanksgiving with our dad last week. He had to go away this weekend and so we took care of that already. So thank you. He would have been really bored at home with me." Dean said and did his best not to fidget with his car keys.

"You want to stay too? There's plenty?" She asked almost positive that Sam was leaving his brother alone for Thanksgiving, and there had been no dinner for them last weekend. She knew where they lived, knew how poor they were, and knew without a doubt that Dean ate less than his brother did. While Sam was all baby fat and happiness, Dean was tall, thin, and a little drawn, as if he hadn't eaten well in years just to make sure that his brother had enough. His clothes were also more worse for wear than Sam's. Sam always had nice clothes and jackets, they weren't designer but they always looked better than his older brother's. Melody worked at the school and she was able to see the brothers every day, but Dean always wore jeans that looked like they had seen better days, shirts that were so faded that most of them she couldn't identify their original colors. But Dean never complained. Never said a lot. He just kept his head down and sat alone. Most of his teachers commented that he seemed lonely, seemed like he didn't know what his purpose was without Sam at his side.

She looked at the boy again and realized that he wasn't wearing a coat, it was cold enough that the weather man had called for snow, but this thin young man wasn't wearing a coat, Sam had been, but Dean had not. Her heart suddenly ached. She and her family had so much, and it seemed as if she was taking away what little Dean had. He gave her a rakishly, charming smile and shook his head no.

"Thank you for the invitation. But I'm fine. I have plans of my own." Melody Anders doubted that very much, but she accepted the lie and allowed the boy to leave her porch with a goodbye.

Dean arrived back at the apartment they had rented and he sat his keys down and closed the door. The silence was oppressive. Sam always made noise. Some kind of noise, it didn't matter, him sighing, pages flipping, television, Sam's breathing, his feet against the floor, something, always making noise, but now, with him somewhere else, and their dad on a hunt, it was just Dean and the echo of his own breathing was haunting. His boots were heavy as they walked to the kitchen. He stopped when he heard their echo and took them off and threw them against the door.

Refrigerator door open, he pulled out the Thanksgiving dinner he had planned to have with Sam. Weeks spent working odd jobs and tutoring the elementary school kids in math, had earned him enough money to buy a pre-made, small turkey breast, mashed potatoes, a loaf of bread, cranberry sauce, and a pumpkin pie. Dean had been so proud of himself, that he was finally able to provide his baby brother with the normal family meal that he craved, had craved for years. But Sam didn't want just the meal, he wanted the family that went with it. That was something Dean wasn't able to provide. So, when Sam asked if he could go, Dean let him, neglected to tell him of the meal that he had worked for and bought. Sam didn't need to feel guilty for wanting what he wanted.

Dean sat down at the ragged kitchen table, the meal warmed and spread out around him, and he sighed.

"I'm thankful for my brother." He said out loud. "I'm thankful for my dad, my life, and my safety. I'm thankful for…" Dean couldn't finish. Tears were spreading down his face rapidly. He couldn't keep going. Instead he shoved a forkful of mashed potatoes inside his mouth. He kept shoving the food down his mouth hoping to shove the tears down his gullet as well. Dean knew all the tears contained were self pity. Self pity was for losers and he was most certainly not that. So he kept shoving food down his throat, and eventually the tears were strangled and his stomach ached. He didn't even bother to clean up his mess, he simply turned the heater off, and went upstairs, and swaddled himself in as many blankets as he could. Mrs. Anders was going to bring Sam home. Sam didn't need his services any more that day. So, Dean could rest.

Sam came home late that night, smiling and full of turkey and good home made fixings. "Dean! I'm home!" He declared and was blessed with no reply. Sam dropped his coat on the chair next to the door and walked farther into the apartment. "Dean?" he called a little more worried this time. He passed the kitchen and found the remnants of the Thanksgiving meal that Dean had consumed, and his ears went cold. Dean had scrimped and saved enough for the two of them to have a meal. Sam walked closer to the table and found that the containers held the remnants of all of the foods that Sam had listed as traditional Thanksgiving foods. All of it had been consumed. Sam felt a cold chill run up his spine and realized that Dean had turned the heat off. He only did that when they were low on money. Sam, confused, walked up the stairs to the room they shared. His brother was curled up inside a nest of blankets, and his eyes were red and swollen. Dean had been crying. Dean never cried. Not even when he was thrown by a shapeshifter and his arm had been broken.

Dean had tried to make this Thanksgiving a real one for Sam, and like always Sam managed to ruin Dean's best laid plans. Sam went and got on his pajamas and climbed into the bed with his brother, something he hadn't done in recent years, being a teenager now and not needing the comfort of his big brother or his bed. He turned on his side away from Dean and muttered. "I'm thankful for you Dean."


End file.
